


Twisted and Twined

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Braids, Crack Treated Seriously, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I Don't Even Know, In A Fun Way Though, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Everyone keeps staring at him, and Arthur doesn't quite know why.Until he does.He is going to kill his manservant.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 342
Collections: Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	Twisted and Twined

Everyone keeps… _staring_ at him.

Arthur's surreptitiously checked his tunic for any embarrassing stains, his breeches for any obvious tears, and found none, and yet everyone keeps giving him these peculiar _looks._ Some look surprised, as though they've never seen him before. Some look amused yet try to mask it, ducking their heads to hide their smiles.

Leon had stared at him for a full minute before giving his report at the Round Table.

Gwaine had buried his head in his arms and refused to come out again, shoulders shaking with muffled giggles; it had helped only a little when Percival elbowed him so hard he came halfway out his chair.

His council meeting doesn't go much differently.

By lunchtime, he is beginning to feel uneasy. Is it possible for an enchantment to affect an entire castle? He thought Merlin had taken care of that.

When he passes Guinevere in the corridor, she gives him the same treatment, flashing an unexpectedly gleeful smile, but she also adds on with a peculiar emphasis, "You look _very_ nice today, Arthur."

"I…Thank you?" he replies uncertainly.

She grins a little wider and keeps walking.

Arthur stares after her until she rounds the corner, then gives himself another perfunctory look-over because he's worn these clothes before, what the hell is going _on?_ Determined to get to the bottom of this, he straightens up and starts marching towards his chambers. He needs to find that idiot manservant of his and figure this out, this is getting ridiculous.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouts as he strides into his chamber. Unsurprisingly, his lunch is not there, neither is his servant. Surprise of surprises. He starts pacing, hands on his hips as he tries to think through his morning.

He turns on heel, paces the length of his chamber again.

Stops.

Takes one step backwards. Two.

Turns to face his mirror.

Someone has braided his hair. His hair…is braided.

Not all of it has been braided, but some of it. Two small plaits on the left side, one on the right, tied with snippets of thread at the bottom.

As he stares at his reflection, wondering how the hell this cosmetic situation has come about, the answer hits him like a lightning bolt, and he isn't certain how the hell he could have ever assumed there was anyone else responsible. He had fallen asleep at his desk this morning after breakfast, since he'd rescheduled the training session for tomorrow so the new squires could observe, and he hadn't slept well the night before. Merlin must've gotten him then.

He is going to put that idiot sorcerer in the stocks for a month. Two months. Hell, forget the stocks, he'll just lock that insolent little _wretch_ in the dungeons.

As if thinking about him conjured him, Merlin elbows open the door of his chambers with a thump, carrying a haphazardly collected tray of food. "I'm here, I'm here, sorry, I was waiting for fresh bread to come out the ov—" He snaps his mouth shut with an audible click when his gaze settles on Arthur, eyes going wide.

Arthur folds his arms over his chest. "Good afternoon, Merlin," he says cordially.

Merlin opens his mouth, closes it again, doing a very impressive impersonation of a landed fish.

"What's wrong, Merlin?" he goes on, still affecting a casual air. "Do I have something in my hair, perhaps?"

"I'm sorry," the blockhead says at last, which Arthur honestly hadn't expected, but then again, maybe he foresees the suffering in his future. "I didn't mean—I was just going to—I mean, you weren't supposed to—"

"Try finishing one of those sentences, if you please."

Merlin gulps nervously, hands clutching the edges of the tray white-knuckle tight. "I was just going to…have a laugh when you woke up, that's all, but then Gwen needed me to help her, and you weren't supposed to leave with them in but by the time I got back you had already woken up and left and I forgot and I'm sorry," he says, his words coming faster as they go on until it's all being said on a single breath.

Arthur raises his brows at the garbled mush of words and drums his fingers against his bicep, watching the younger man try not to squirm. Finally, he says, "Do you expect me to eat my lunch standing up? Put the tray down."

He edges over to the table like he's expecting Arthur to leap at him with sword drawn once he gets too close. The moment he sets it down, he practically jumps backwards, and when Arthur pulls out his chair and sits down, he starts to edge forward again. "Shall I…shall I get the comb, sire?" he asks hesitantly.

"Why?" Arthur tears off a piece of bread—mm, Merlin really did get him fresh bread; maybe he'll only go in the dungeons for one month instead of two—and dips it in his wine just so he can see Merlin's mouth twitch in disgust. "I look very nice today. Gwen told me so."

Another stunning fish impersonation.

"Next time, though, use some thread-of-gold, would you? I'm above some scraps of mending thread, honestly," he drawls.

"I-I-I—"

"The ayes have it." Arthur flicks a bit of crust at him. "Don't you have chores to do, clotpole?"

"That's my word," Merlin replies on reflex, still staring at him.

"Suits you perfectly, too. Shoo."

"But—"

Thick as a brick, this one. "Dungeons or chores, Merlin. Your pick."

Quick as a flash, the wretch is out the door, though he's staring back at Arthur the entire time so he nearly runs face-first into the door, grumbling a curse as he yanks it open and stomps out.

Arthur is polite enough to wait until the door shuts before laughing. Oh, the look on his face was something priceless. As his mirth fades, he lifts a hand to touch his hair lightly, running a fingertip over the small braids.

Well, at least this way it's out of his eyes.


End file.
